Color me surprised
by A Souring Daydream
Summary: When your old pal Henry gets a letter in the mail from an even older pal, you're sent in his place to investigate. After worrying about the answer as to why he would ignore it so. . . coldly. How an old wooden Studio drips with familiarity and- why was his cartoon character trying to fucking kill you? AGENDER!READER INSERT


Oh. It's. . . what you expected, honestly. The dry decaying orange wood. Scatters of paper on the tables and flat surfaces, like a violent breeze had gone through. Or people had hurried out in a rush evident by overturned chairs and items, and then the _cake_ ofdust finalizing just how long anyone lively had been inside, or a large amount of them, for a long, long, time. ' _Yeah, yeah, lots of dust_. _In my eyes and everything, peachy.'_

You sneeze suddenly, without any restraint. Smoothly grabbing your glasses off your face to wipe them down with the fabric of your shirt before readjusting them back on your face carefully, blinked sharply to adjust quicker to see back ahead.

You almost swear. . . the cardboard cutout a little ahead was in a closer placement before you had blinked. As you progress further into the building the heels of your boots don't even make a sound as you stride forward to scout everything here. Looking around corners and hallways, at projectors and blocked off doorways. It's been what a good unspoken amount of time since you've been in this work place. But when you find a certain artists desk and stop to look at it, it makes some of the snooping worthwhile.

A mild thought briefly crosses your mind, harmless and not without some warmth ' _What loser had to sit in this seat_?' you huff to yourself. The corners of your lips tipped upward a small bit, only visible difference to your slight emotional shift as you thumb a very old concept drawing with care. You know whom it was, but they aren't here now. Plus you were here in their place, just for them.

Now finding graffiti wasn't to be totally unexpected. Not on an old, abandoned building. But on the _inside,_ that was different. When you see ' _ **DREAMS COME TRUE'**_ written in wide sloppy characters dripping ink (. . . that _is_ ink _right_?) on the walls surface you paused. Looking at it for a while like your eyes are playing tricks on you. Only after feeling your calloused hand on the smooth wooden surface there is dry, slightly wet, ink from the dripping old pipes above. With legs moving accordingly you press on making way to somewhere else in the building to find any other interesting treasures left over.

The Ink Machine was new too. You're looking at the switch curiously. ' _Started, how do I get this thing started?'_ you hum to yourself, while your finger taps on your chin. Unwilling to keep still while still wanting to calmly think of a way to get this working. There's a loud ' _ **thump**_ ' down the hall that has you straightened out sharply compared to a second ago your practiced bad bent over posture. Head twisted to look overhead behind yourself quickly, temped nearly to call out but knew better of it. Watching with wondrous and curious eyes down the corridor for anything to pop up.

You're on your behind, scrambling backwards on hands and knees across the floor in a spooked tangle of your own limbs when you turned around to see a larger than average human-sized Bendy cutout suddenly standing right in front of you and the switch. Your beating heart reminds you to wheezingly exhale. Able to get yourself back up, one stable step at a time, till bee-lining it the hell away from that thing. Still a little shaken up, surprised at least, sure! A real good harmless scare you didn't want to think about the _how_. Finding a seat in a nice little area away from that- _area,_ that whole part of the studio floor, to rest backwards on a chair melting forward on the top support of the chair while listening to the start of an old recorded tape you found sitting on the wall and listened, to a painfully familiar voice.

 _ **"At this point, I don't get what Joey's plan is for this company. The animations sure aren't getting done on time anymore and I certainly don't see why we need this. . . machine. It's noisy, it's messy, and who needs that much ink anyway? Also, get this; Joey had each one of use donate something from our workstations. We put them on these little pedestals in the break room. 'To help appeal the gods' Joey says. 'Keep things going.' I think he lost his mind. But hey, he writes the checks. But I tell you what if one more of these pipes burst? I'm out of here."**_

". . . Joey, what the fuck?"

A chair wobbled on uneven legs as you stood from your toes to reach for the plush sitting on the top of the giant wardrobe. The call to victory was the enthusiastic squeak from the doll when your hand gripped around it tightly, before the chair finally flipped over from the force, flopping onto the ground lamely. Your arms trembled with the pathetic effort it took to keep you hanging on the top of the cursed high dresser to keep from a painful little fall right onto the floor. A frame of a second later able to carefully lower yourself, and the tiny Bendy, on to the floor without an injury. Or any more pain to your tired ass.

Exhaling relief toward the successful little aftermath in your arms, observing its sweet little eyes apprehensively. A lot of trouble for a mini toon you just wanted to possess. It says nothing but a tiny voice like anxiety says it's probably silently judging you for your deep inner adoration for plush toys.

Walking off to look for the next loot you can find continues smoothly. You find out later or _remember_ that these items are for an altar of some shape or form back over in the switch room ( _No, I was not thinking of stealing the plushie! However. . .)_ An unmistakable shiver racks your body at the thought of going back, biting back a minor cringe. How bad can it be when you've made it this long and far already? Although. . . Who has time for that? Sitting on an empty wooden chair instead to pass time and take a break, to peacefully watch the 'Bendy the dancing demon' animation, isn't so bad of a way to spend time either. The lack of cold drink makes you a little sad on habit; any nice time to yourself may be spent with a movie and relaxing alcoholic beverage. Still the cardboard cutout at least doesn't seem to mind your company or silent inner woes for you admiring the arts, from just where it stands near the corner of the flat screen.

You start awake from your doze, the projector rolling numbly in the background when you hear a door creak open loudly even distantly. You almost don't want to bother getting up now but think better. Leaving the abandoned complex sounds nice, in your sleepy, sluggish state but, spending time sitting around the ex. Studio for almost the whole day is taxing. If finally, hopefully, maybe Mr. Drew or any other employee was here to help find the thing and get out.

The plushy lies under the projector from where it had rolled off your lap while you took the needed 'power nap.' The chair makes no sound when you stood and make your way back down the right hall with wee curiosity, conveniently toward the ink machine. You notice with sharp detail the cracked open door just ahead to your right.

 _That was_ _ **not**_ _open before._

Low music switches on loudly in a room directly to your left with sharp click making you jump and pale almost immediately. Your heart thumping heavily in your chest echoes like beating drums to your ears contrast to the silent building. Old-timey music from the 'Bendy the dancing Demon' official soundtrack, singing gleefully from an old radio through the door. You laugh, honestly.

' _Well, it's not like I had anything else to do today. This is fine,'_ you internally rationalize.

You blink and stare at the floor too. With inky. . . foot prints leading to the wedged open door and into a room directly right of you and despite hesitation, follow them inside. Carefully.

Pushing the door open slowly with the palm of your hand, the room is now free to observe. There's a good short but wide staircase leading to the lower, larger section of the room where it dips. With coat hangers, dining tables, seats, lamps, and a thin curtain and even more of some of the tools, you recognized as part of Joey's sacrifice list here and there. There's even one more Bendy cardboard cutout chilling out by a checking-in station for the worker's shifts and a small closet with a few snack food cans stacked around inside. You wave at the 2D board.

The damn thing falls over like a drawbridge just before of your polished boots, more with the welcoming of a distasteful ignorance trying to shoo you away. It rests back thoughtfully in its proper spot as you make your way deeper into the back of the room.

But, lastly, there's the void-like staircase.

You shiver when a chill travels up your spine giving you goose flesh. Taking a step closer, looking down at the pitch black abyss for a long moment, not a single breath of life coming from it. It's thin and narrow and just screams the fear and discomfort of a closed in space and a very long decent. But it's like it's just _dead,_ and _that's saying something_ since this is an abandoned, possibly haunted _ok you admit it_ Studio. **Anything** could reach out and grab on. Your eyes tunnel in on it and don't look away for a while looking for any trace.

Sadly your attention was in the _wrong place._

Swallowing back the heavy unease, you make a slow turn to walk back and head out. Untill a _clawed hand touches your back_. You gave a sharp hiss inhale, whipping around now to see. . . **Him!** This 'Bendy' themed _monstrosity._ Large, towering, _breathing_ , and just leaning over you nearly entirely deformed, and melting. . . _Smiling_. You can't speak a peep because you've stopped breathing. **It** is looking down at you silently, at ease, with a pale cartoon yellow stiff face. The human before it would be ready defense posed if it wasn't for the absolute freezing terror consuming them. The thing bends into your personal space.

The corners of its mouth dip higher. ' _oh God. . .'_

You blink and your body tips backwards faintly, you're legs had finally given out from under you from the moment of trembling. You're tearing your eyes away for a moment to see over your shoulder behind yourself and see the shadows reaching nearer. . . No, you're just falling in.

You've felt this before, the weakness of going limp from weariness. But you fear it, the fall, like a rock plop that's it.

Before suddenly halted a second later before you could turn your head the whole way round with a jerk, arm being held firmly in the monster's grip. It's grinning still but looks fixed, wide enough to take up most of its lower middle face. And It loosens its hand, and let's go. . . Gravity takes hold again without the heart stopping slow of time because you're going to be swallowed by the darkness, to the only path you can move toward. You fall down, slip from _His_ grip. The smiling face the last thing you see. And it hurts.

 _It hurts. It hurt a lot. Everything hurts. You should not be walking. But, with no one to stop you, you continue forward. Refusing to rest, trying to move onward anywhere else. Possibly, hurting yourself even further. You breathe in are shallow, arms wrapped around your frail ribs. Black spots fade in and out of your vision, steadily covering more and more of your sight at an alarming rate. Awareness is_ _fading quickly. Everything hurts. There's a dark wet substance across your torso and dripping down your temple too. You are frighteningly reminded of the dark wide words painted on the walls upstairs and hope._

 _You wished you weren't color blind. You could have seen the signs, what could have been blood coating and drip from the walls and in puddles. What could have been the footsteps leading to your unlucky meeting. If everything didn't smell of toxic ink fumes and dry old dust. What might be blood now, dripping down your own side from a wound you couldn't entirely be aware of, feeling faint, and weak and collapsing._

 _You, on this lucky occurrence, feel the presence before you see it. It slides in from the corner of your extremely limited sight as you hang onto the last seconds of consciousness, a tall black and white figure with a thin humanoid frame. You don't get to see anymore, even if you wished too. Vision fading fast, head feeling heavy the darkness successfully swallows you whole._

 _You don't feel aware as your body falls limply into the outstretched arms of the dark inky figure, or your forehead softly hit their chest, or when the hands that held you, close around to hold your form. You're gone. You sleep._

" _ **Sheep sheep sheep, it's time for sleep. Rest you're head, it's time for bed…"**_


End file.
